Rebel and the Princess
by Sushi Waitress
Summary: Just a little J/H fanfic, since this is where I think he first started liking her...Hyde's POV. I'll have Prom 1st Season up next. First one, so please be gentle! Also on my deviantart account, http://mistsofavalon4ever./art/Hyde-Moves-In
1. Chapter 1

"This was SUCH a great idea, Michael, it was so much fun! Oh, wait, except for the part where we got our CLOTHES STOLEN, YOU IDIOT!" yells Jackie after another one of Kelso's failed plans. This one happened to be skinny-dipping. As a result, we are all returning in Eric's car, completely naked. In theory I'd take advantage of my gift of sight in a situation like this, since both Donna and Jackie participated, and hello, two naked girls? Sitting next to each other in a car? Doesn't happen very often. In reality, I'm averting my eyes, because if I get an, um...you know...everyone would see, since I'm sans pants.

I hate to admit it- especially when it concerns a cheerleader- but I couldn't have said it better myself. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Why is it that every time she calls him out on being an imbecile, I find it hilarious? It's not like I don't know that he is. Maybe it's because she's going out with him, which is . That must be it.

"I can't drive to my house with a car full of naked people. They hate you guys when you're dressed."

"Well, we can got to my house," I offer.

Jackie moves her hair over her shoulder. Suddenly I'm slapped with the smell of the cookies Mrs. Foreman bakes...or not the cookies, exactly but the brown liquid she mixes in...right, vanilla extract...and lake water...and the first bite of an apple...and I notice that her back is really white and really bare and that bother her shoulder and her neck are so small I could totally cover them with just the span of my hand...Shit. Because as I've noticed all this, something has been going, um...you know...higher. And I think Kelso could see what my eyes were on while that was happening.

"Yeah Edna's probably used to having naked guys around," he says. Perfect excuse to get manly anger out.

"She's not even home, you moron!" I punch him repeatedly on the shoulder.

***

We stop at my house since no one's ever here. I could be embarressed by the smeared windows and the door half off its hinges, but I'm so used to it I don't really care. As soon as I'm dressed, I bring two blankets out to the car. Well, throw them is more like it. I'm not taking any chances with looking this time. I book it out of the driveway as fast as I can.

***

Donna emerges from Mom's room wearing a huge floral shirt and pair of jeans. She smiles widely at Eric, and I feel the last vestige of attraction for her fade a little. I mean, there's no ignoring her Titian mane and her Aphrodite body, but...they're so perfect for each other, I feel like maybe I should back down.

Jackie barges out of Mom's room, wearing...a green blanket. What. The hell. Her little body is shivering slightly and her arms are wrapped tightly around her chest.

"Jackie, you couldn't find anything?" I ask, fist tightening over my can of looks at me, and for a second I think she's going to say thanks. For, you know. The blanket. Or the place to crash for a bit(Daddy Dearest of the Deep Pockets would not take too kindly to his princess arriving home with no clothes). I mean, it's not like she'd thank me for anything else. All I ever do is make fun of her.

"No offense, Steven, but your mom's clothes are whore-y."

Wow. She turns away from me.

"Michael, can you please take me home? I think I caught something."

"Oh, like an eel?" he asks, laughing at his own brilliance. God, could he be any more of an idiot? Take her home! Use her coldness as an excuse to give her the jacket (that's mine) you're wearing! Use it as an excuse to hold her.

"Not that, you idiot, I think I'm sick!"

They leave. Good riddance, man. Who knew skinny-dipping could put you in such a bad mood?


	2. Chapter 2

PROM 1976...

It is time to recover from that thing that makes you stupid: a day of high school. Really, if they want to get our attention, they should hire hot teacher, not grandmas with a tendency towards mouth-pursing.

I could go to the Hub, but it's Prom, and watching people in formal crap eating greasy good will just be depressing as hell. But it's not just that- it's that it'll be a bunch of girls thinking about dancing and the "time of their lives" while their dates are only thinking about getting laid. The whole thing is as real as Laurie's bottle-blonde hair.

So I go to the refuge of Eric's house. He's not their- neither are Fez or Kelso. They're probably getting their damn tuxes fitted.

***

Infomercial...infomercial...Brady's Bunch...Wheel of Fortune...

"I'm not talking legality, Preppie. I'm talking ethics. You guys have a million books. We have a few lousy thousand," says a tiny dark-haired chick to an admittedly very preppily dressed guy.

She reminds me of someone. Donna, maybe, with the whip-smart attitude.

"Listen, I need that goddamn book," the guy says. Obviously someone who's not used to being said no to.

"Would you please watch your profanity, Preppie?"

No, not Donna. Way too prissy.

"Anyway, you look stupid and rich," she continues, challenging.

"Actually," he says, "I'm smart and poor."

"Oh, no Preppie, I'M smart and poor. I wouldn't go for coffee with you," she adds for good measure.

"Listen," he replies indignantly, "I wouldn't ask you."

"And that," she replies nonchalantly,"is exactly what makes you stupid.

Way too superior to be Donna, too. But in a way that's almost, like...cute. Endearing, even.

I shake my head. I can't believe I've resorted to watching a romance. Time to go smoke and clear my head.

***

I usually ease into the special breathing on about the twentieth inhale. I'm just getting into the comfort stage...my fingers are warm, my mouth is fulfilled, it tastes like I'll never be hungry for anything but cigarettes again...

Just as Jackie comes around the corner on the other side of the street I choke. I drop the cigarette and grind it into the back door step. It's not like I care what she thinks, I'm just not in the mood for backwoods jokes.

It's fine. Whatever. She'll go to Donna's, and if she's not at her house, she'll check here, and when she finds that Donna's not her, she'll leave, and then I will be happy.

I go back inside. The preppy guy's saying, "You can dish it out, Jenny, but you sure can't take it back."

Jenny. Huh. That seems to fit her. Hey, Jenny sounds a lot like...

I turn it to drag racing. No way am I watching that crap anymore. I sit as far on my side of the couch as I possibly can.

She comes downstairs and sits at the opposite end of the couch, putting her arms over her legs. I don't want to feel sorry for her, because it's not like she couldn't have said no when Kelso asked her out. I mean, he's my friend, but that doesn't mean he's not the kind of guy would cheat. I just know what it means when someone curls up like that. There are times when you feel insignificant and you want to feel bigger. Then there are times when you feel insignificant and you just want to keep feeling that way.

She makes a petulant sound somewhere between a sigh and a mew. I am ignoring her, because I don't want to hear her flap her tongue about Kelso.

Why isn't she leaving yet?

She does it AGAIN, just louder. I. Cannot. Take this.

"Jackie. If I ask you what's wrong, will you stop doing that?"

"The prom. Stupid Michael's going with stupid Pam Macy. And I don't have a date and I told him I did and I'm a complete LOSER."

Oh joy.

Actually, she probably could get a date at the last minute. I know a lot of guys at our school that discuss fantasies with her as the star. I won't tell her this, though.

Suddenly, I start laughing. People take this as insensitive, but what most don't know is that when I do it impulsively it's so I don't cry, because I hate that she's alone and I hate Michael for ditching her and going with a slut that would go with anyone. What is WRONG with people?

She gives me a glare of death, green eyes turning into lasers.

"Uh...no you're not."

She smiles a little and clasps her petite hands.

"It's just that...I thought he was gonna ask me and now everyone who's anyone is going."

"That is so true," I say, just for the joy of pissing her off as much as she's pissing me off.

"How would you know, you're not even going!" she snaps like the Homecoming Princess she is.

"Oh! But you're not even going! And I bet you clean up real good," she says, giving my arm a squeeze.

Oh. No. I will not be her second choice. I will not be her little inflatable Kelso replacement. And that's final.

"Well, I do. But I won't. See, that's a big part of who I am."

Watching her cheeks flame is almost as satisfying the Hub's chocolate shake.

She puts her hand on the small of my back. Well, if she thinks that little maneuver is going to work she is just WRONG.

"Hyde, I know we've had our differences-"

"Jackie, we've had nothing BUT differences! In fact...don't we sort of hate each other?"

That's right. I do hate her. She's the poster girl for the government. Everyone in America is this rich and beautiful and unaturally happy! Like you can ignore those that die in the streets and slowly in their homes. She probably doesn't even know poverty exists. She probably thinks "poverty" is a freaking shoe brand.

Watch the TV. Don't watch her face. Don't...

"Yes...but this is the pr-o-O-OOm!" she wails, shuddering into tears, her head in my lap.

Goddammit. Lederhosen. Stained teeth. Sardines. Santa Claus. Textbook. The Man. I'm running out of non sexy things...

"Jackie...Jackie! Stop crying. Stop it." Really. Stop. Lift your freaking head.

Her head is still shaking. And on my lap. Jesus. Christ.

"Do you want to go to prom?" I holler. Anything to get her off me.

"Yes," she says, sniffling and getting up, totally focusing on me.

She sighs in relief and puts her head on my shoulder.

Well, I have to get out of here. I have to get ready. For the freaking PROM.

***

Mom "borrowed" a tux for me from her part-time retail gig. I've never had anything that fits so well, so I better not stain it.

My hand hovers over my sideburns. Should I? I know she wants me to look nice, and she did seem pretty depressed....

Right. She only wants me to look good so she can show up Kelso.

I drop the razor in the sink, and promise myself that I will never, ever shave for a girl.

***

The doorbell rings. I don't want to go too slow, because she'll think I was, like, waiting, but not wanting her to think that. Obviously, I don't want to go too fast either.

Oh, whatever. I open the door, hardly looking at her. Mom yells, "They're all gonna laugh at you!"

Great. Just what I need.

"Shut up, ma," I scream back. Who cares if Miss USA thinks I have hick manners? "You're making the night too damn special!"

I wait for Jackie to giggle, but she doesn't. Finally I look at her, and wish I didn't.

Wow.

"Wow. You look...beautiful."

The words fall out of my mouth like rain, fast and cool enough to be sobering.

Her dress is pink satin, long, straight, and slim. Pearls button up at the sheer fabric, almost all the way up to her neck, but her snowy shoulders are bare. There are flowers in her hair, which is piled up on her head like a crown.

I almost go back into the house right there. What is this, some kind of joke? A dirt-poor rebel with a fairytale princess? I don't think so. I don't care about people laughing at ME- I've got pretty thick skin- but she doesn't.

"Oh my God, so do you," she replies earnestly. How...original.

"Is that for me?" she asks eagerly, pointing at the box under her arm. I give the corsage to her.

"Oh my God, it's beautiful. You know, whole experience has taught me that I don't need Michael to go to the prom; I can go with anyone. Even you. Thanks."

Gee, thanks. I'm honored.

She leans over to kiss me on the cheek, lips tingly and smooth.

"Let's not do that," I say gruffly. It's not like she's doing it out of anything but obligation.

***

I turn up the volume on the radio, one hand on the steering wheel, expecting Jackie to get in a snit about daddy's expensive car, but she's surprisingly chill. I mean, it's not like she has her feet on the dashboard or anything, but her legs aren't crossed and her chin's resting in her hand. For her, that's pretty chill.

"She's the kinda girl you want so much it makes you sorry," I sing along softly, "even so you don't regret a single day..."

"I like this song," she offers. "It's so pretty."

"Oh, yeah? I thought you just liked Abba. You listen to the Beatles?" I ask. Is she acutally cool?

"I can like them both, you know. Anyway, that's like a once-in-a-century love song. If a guy actually wrote a song like this for me, I would love him forever."

"As long as he was good-looking, right?"

"Well, yeah," she says, like that doesn't make her themost shallow bitch ever.

"Really? Even if he was your 'soulmate'?" I ask, putting up air quotes.

The car swerves over the white line until Jackie screams her ex's name, grabs the wheel, and straightens it out into the lane.

I resume driving and clear my throat.

"Man, living out in the boonies blows. It takes, like, forever to drive anywhere. Must've taken you a while to drive up to my place."

"I'm sorry," she says timidly, hands clasped daintily. Probably some stupid thing she learned in freaking charm school.

"For what?"

"I know you're not Michael, it's just- what you did was really stupid, and Michael always did-"

"Okay, first off, it's not like I actually CARE. Second off, stop referring to him in past tense like he's DEAD, because news flash, just because he's not your boyfriend anymore, it doesn't mean he is."

"I said I was sorry. God, why are you always so mean to me?"

"I'm mean? I'M mean? Oh, that is- that is just rich."

"WhatEVER, Hyde. If I'm so mean, why'd you take me, anyway?"

"Because you CRIED."(on my lap)

"Right."

She leans her head against the fogged window. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see that she's looking outside and that her eyes are watering.

"And just for the record, I don't think physical attraction is the most important thing."

"Sure you don't."

"Well, I do think it's important. Without it, a part of that chemistry is missing. It's like the combination of loving the person and what they present to the world. There has to be a balance."

There's no way I'm telling her that, in a weird way, that makes sense.

"What, did you read that in Glamour?" I sneer.

"No. I just think about it a lot is all."

"I see. So, you still think Kelso's The One?"

For a moment so happy, gazing out the windshield at something unseen, that I want to fit into her mind and see what she's seeing.

"I think so," she whispers wistfully.

Why did I even bother asking?

My chest tightens. Must be the goddamn cold seeping into the car. I crank up the heat, but nothing changes.

***

We shuffle in line until the booth magically disappears after pairs and pairs of heads have shimmied their way inside the gym.

Hooray. The keeper of the tickets is none other than Hart, otherwise known as Hart the meatball-throwing, noogie-loving, tights-wearing football champion.

"Hey, Jackie," he says smarmily, "that's a real pretty dress."

How would you know, meathead? You're only looking at the part below her collarbone.

"Hi, Hart. You look nice, too," she says sweetly.

Universal jock-cheerleader lingo. Come on, guys. Holding up the line here.

"No, I mean...YOU look really pretty." He grabs a tendril of loose hair and tugs it, to her ensuing giggles.

I hate to kill the moment, but..."Hey, I'm here for a ticket. Actually, I'm her date, so let's go." I give him my remaining money and he laughs as he hands me a ticket.

"What, is this a part of your Charity Club, Jackie? I, personally, think it's sweet to go out with a druggie reject. I mean, I bet it makes him feel special."

Oh, buddy, you will not be smirking when I punch your-

"Obviously he's cooler than you," she says with quite a bit of ice in her voice, color rising to her cheeks. "He has a date and you're punching tickets. He's cool enough to be seen with me, anyway."

She pivots, grabs me, and smiles for the yearbook photographer nearby. Pulling me inside the gym, both of us leave Hart, probably with an open mouth and a scarlet letter of Dissed By A Cheerleader.

***

"Why'd you do that?" I ask once we're inside, and Jackie's scouting for (who else?) Kelso.

"I don't know. It bothers me when people make fun of you, I guess."

"But YOU do it all the time..."

"Yeah, but that's me. It's different.

It's funny, but that's the same way I feel about her.

***

As is required of the Prom Slow Dance, I'm holding her close, hands clasped, and we're moving more slowly than we ever would in real life.

"It's just..."

No, it's never "just". That's the thing about girls. It's "just" a million and one things.

"I always pictured myself going to the Prom with Michael. That's the way it was supposed to be, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," I say, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. I mean, I can see why she's thinking of him, since he's dancing a few feet away with the tramp herself. Honestly, she doesn't hold a candle to Jackie. She's just another blonde, fake-n-bake, curvy and plump from milk fat Wisconsin girl. But Jackie probably already knows this. Hmmmm. What's a girl's worst fear?

Duh! Fatness. Jackie is definitely skinnier than Pam Macy.

"Well, if it's any consolation," I say, "Pam's butt looks really big in that dress."

"No it doesn't," she says, shaking her head.

"Yeah, no, it doesn't," I agree, defeated. I mean, yeah, it's like King Kong proportions when compared to Jackie's, but so is every girl's. It's really just normal-sized. Kind of cute, actually...

Okay, I need to get her (and my) mind off asses.

"But thank you. Hey mind if we just sit down?" she asks with little enthusiasm.

"Oh, yeah, I'll just grab us some punch."

I go over to the bowls. Normally I would've brought a flask to spike- I AM curious to see what Jackie would be like drunk, she's so bubbly when she's straight- but she seems like the sort of girl that wouldn't approve of that.

"Hyde, you went with Jackie to the prom? You're supposed to be my friend and you DOGGED me!" Kelso complains, grabbing me. What, does he think I've just been sitting around waiting for Jackie to ditch him so I could have her? As if. And you know, just where does he get off? Does he even know what a jerk he's been?

"Hey," I snap in a condescending, big-brother way, "She CRIED, man!"

"Well...is she having a good time? Cuz she looks real pretty..."

We both look at her, sitting on the sidelines, slouched, hand in a fist holding up her head. She looks miserable. I guess I just suck at comforting people. I've never really been comforted, but I can't ask now. I'm seventeen, not seven.

"All, right, look, you big baby...you want to be with her, and she wants to be with you. So go over there and be with her! The whole thing sickens me!"

"What about Pam?"

I eye her, a pouty buttercup in her yellow dress, sitting and waiting at a table for her knight in rusting armor to stop thinking of the damsel in the pink dress.

Vulnerable + slutty= easy

"I'll take care of Pam," I say.

Sliding over to her table, I asses her brightening expression.

"Excuse me, Pam? Hi. Have you ever seen the back seat of a Lincoln Continental?"

"Yeah..."

Of course you have.

"Would you like to see one with me?"

"Sure, she agrees with a hair toss, like she's doing me a big favor.

Before we step out of the gym, I look over my shoulder. Sure enough, they've reconciled and are dancing. God, she would forgive him anything.

But she opens her eyes, tip-toeing over Kelso's high shoulder. And mouths...

"Thank you."

Thank you...for what? Going to something that makes me a hypocrite...for her? Giving Kelso the invitation to pick her up off her feet...for her?

I don't know. I might not ever.

But it's not like I'm going to ask.

***

"You're WAY better than Michael," Pam says as I pull my pants back on.

"Yeah, I know.

Somehow, it doesn't make me feel better. Or fill the strange emptiness I've never felt...after.

***

I'm in a forest of pines...the sky is overcast and chilly. I'm wearing...my tux?

"Steee-ven," chants someone. It sounds like it's coming from above...

It's a little, dark-haired girl with wide green eyes, her hair down, a wreath of flowers crossing her forehead. Her feet are bare. She's sitting on a tree branch, legs swinging, long white angel gown sleeves billowing in the breeze.

"Steven, why are you all the way down there?"

"Um...I don't know..."

She jumps, hands up, and I catch her in may arms. She pushes down on my chest and I fall backwards onto the soft earth.

She giggles on top of me, then rolls off. We lay in silence for a while. I start to ask her a question, but she puts a finger to my lips and says, "Ssshh."

I grab for her, but she's turned to air.

***

I wake up, startled, and greeted by the boutonnière atop my set of drawers.

I should really throw that away...

Instead, I shove it the top one, slam it, and go back to sleep.


End file.
